


Justice at Last Up From the Muddy Water

by TintedPink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gun Violence, Heavy Angst, Magical Realism, Murder Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stephen Strange is the town psychic, may parker is present and important, on screen murder in the first chapter, peter parker is murdered, tony stark is peter's guardian, unrealistic depictions of magic, wade wilson is murdered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-24 00:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20016982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TintedPink/pseuds/TintedPink
Summary: The tragic murder of teenagers Peter Parker and Wade Wilson shakes the entire town of W-- to it's core.The killer is on the loose, and the town psychic knows more than he's saying.Updates daily





	1. A Single Shot Split the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve wanted to write a story based off of “Preacher’s Daughter” by Maggie Rose basically since the first time I heard it and tonight was just the night for it. If you want major spoilers, [here’s the song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cJ4qDBNzKYE) The narrative line is the same with some tweaking, obvs..  
> This is not a light fic. Spoiler filled warnings at the bottom. Short version: gun violence

Every small town has at least one, and sometimes more than one, spot that is exceptional for spending quality time with a significant other. In the small town of — one such spot was a rock shelf by a riverbank which was frequented by teenagers with a variety of intentions. Many horror movies begin in these locations, with nondescript teens meeting their doom at the hands of an evil or deranged serial killer. It’s a not so subtle warning against sexual promiscuity and the possible negative consequences of sex.

In this story, it’s just an unfortunate coincidence, a crime of opportunity if opportunity could be premeditated.

Peter Parker and Wade Wilson were enjoying the cool water of the river on their bare feet. Wade’s riding boots and Peter’s dress shoes along with their socks were taken off and tossed aside when they first arrived at the town’s infamous rock shelf. Wade’s motorcycle was parked not far away. Peter’s head laid against the flat of Wade’s shoulder and Wade’s arm was wrapped around his boyfriend’s waist. The summer sun was setting, but it would light for an hour or more still. The trees and the rocks around them all had a faint orange glow to them that was just the right side of romantic, dim, but not creepily so.

It was the boys six month anniversary, and Peter had just won first place in a youth science fair. They’d gone out to dinner at the nicest diner in town to celebrate and then Wade had driven them out to the rock shelf. No less than two cars had pulled up only to turn around when they had seen Wade and Peter. Peter was concerned that maybe they were hogging the rock shelf, but so few of their outings had the blessing of Tony Stark that Wade was trying to take full advantage of their time together. He pulled Peter in by his stuffy black tie, remnants of the outfit he’d worn to present his project and pressed a kiss to his boyfriend’s lips.

Never one to lag behind where Wade was concerned, Peter met Wade halfway, and they let themselves get lost in each other for a few more minutes. The sounds of the rustling trees and approaching tires did nothing to break them apart, very little ever could. They had the kind of love that most people only ever dream about having. Easy teen attachment coupled with unending loyalty and total support, Wade and Peter had been friends for years, but had only taken the leap to be together recently, after Peter had come out to his guardian and Tony had promised to give his blessing to any relationship Peter chose to be in.

Peter Parker had only had eyes for Wade Wilson for the last year, and the same could be said for Wade. Secret smiles and soft kisses had populated their relationship since it’s infancy, neither wanting to push their respective luck. While Wade’s parents couldn’t do much about the two of them being together, it was well within Tony Stark’s power to drag Peter away kicking and screaming until Peter was eighteen. Blessing or not, they didn’t want to risk it.

Tony Stark, Peter Parker’s guardian, disapproved of Wade on the same unfounded ground many parents disapprove of young men who drive motorcycles and wear leather jackets. For Tony it was the principle of the thing. Motorcycle riding leather, jacket-wearing teenagers couldn’t possibly be up to anything good, and the last thing he wanted was for Peter to get mixed in with the rabble.

The Wilsons disapproved of Peter because they disapproved of Tony, as many W—— residents did. The rich city man had come into W—— without a care in the world, a child in tow and baggage in hand, both metaphorical and literal. Any man who couldn’t raise a child without uprooting him completely couldn’t be a competent guardian, or raise a competent child, in their mistaken opinion.

Neither Wade nor Peter cared for the disapproval of their parents.

The crunching tires didn’t call Wade’s attention away from his dedication to kissing Peter senseless until the bright white LED headlights shone in their eyes as the car headed straight towards them, rather than turning around at the gap in the trees like every car before it had.

Peter squinted in the direction of the approaching car, none-the-wiser to Wade’s unease as he watched it approach.

“That’s the third one tonight. Do you think we should let someone else sit here?” Peter asked, looking between the car and his boyfriend. Wade squinted to see the people in the car, but could only make out one figure, and it didn’t seem to be any way they knew. Even though the car made him uneasy in a way the two previous ones hadn’t, Wade just pulled Peter back in by his tie and tried to act like nothing was wrong, maybe that would send the person driving a message, that they weren’t going anywhere.

“What? Nah. We were here first, Petey, they can get their own makeout place.” He smiled and turned his head at the last second to kiss Peter on the neck. Peter laughed and pushed playfully at Wade’s shoulder, only to really start pushing at him when the car finally came to a stop, only ten feet from them.

“They’re getting out. Wait.” He said, craning his neck and squinting his eyes against the harsh glare of the headlamps to try to see. A part of Peter was afraid it was Tony, come to whisk him away from Wade’s bad influence while things were just about to get interesting, but the silhouette was wrong, of both the person and the car. He didn’t know who else it could possibly be, or why they would be getting out of their car.

Wade pulled back from Peter to follow his gaze, seeing the figure getting out of his vehicle. Where before he’d just felt unease, now he was feeling something to close to fear to ignore. Maybe it was nothing, but he wasn’t going to risk Peter because he couldn’t follow a hunch.

“We’re getting out of here.” He said quietly to Peter as he started to stand up. “Hey, buddy, we’re almost done. Just give us a couple minutes!” Wade called, arm tightening around Peter’s back as he stood. When Peter wasn’t moving fast enough, Wade urged him up by the belt loops of his dress pants, other hand steadying his chest where he almost fell forward. Whatever instinct was telling Wade to get out was also telling him to do it fast. He steadied Peter on his feet, all but throwing his shoes at him before pulling on his own.

“What? Wade, I thought we were staying.” Without Wade’s assistance Peter likely could have ended up face first in the river, and even with it, he still almost did. Wade more tossed than shoved Peter’s shoes at him, and he barely managed to keep them from falling into the river, holding them in both his arms and clumsily pushing his blue and red glasses back up his nose from where they’d slid in his haste to get up.

Wade already had on one shoe and was sliding on the other without bothering to redo the laces or even put on his socks. He tried to convey his fear and desperation to Peter without saying anything that might give them away. Peter didn’t understand the need for the urgency, but Wade was one of the most fearless people Peter knew. If even he was scared, Something had to be wrong. He dropped his shoes in front of him to try to toe them on, watching Wade fumble for his keys.

“Something isn’t sitting right with me, Pete. We need to get out of here, now.” Wade’s eyes were nearly manic, and Peter felt the edges of fear creeping up on him, but he didn’t know why.

“What? What do you mean?” He asked, but he never got an answer.

A gunshot rang out and echoed in the riverbed. If Peter had been able to think at all, he would have made the connection between Wade’s fear and the loud sound that had him jumping and tumbling over onto the rock shelf.

But he couldn’t think about anything except the sudden surprised look on Wade’s face, then nothing but blank emptiness as his boyfriend fell backward into the river, tumbling over himself and down out of sight. Peter was too far back to see the result of the splash he heard below, or watch Wade’s body start to float down the river.

The key’s he’d barely found fell to the ground with a clatter and clang, sliding until they rested beside Peter’s own shoe. The contrast of bright silver keys and black dress shoes was stark, but Peter didn’t see it. He just continued to stare at the place where Wade had gone over the edge, a ringing in his ears that wasn’t just the gunshot.

He turned to face the man who had shot his boyfriend. His heart pounded in his chest but the only emotion that registered with him was shock as he stared open-mouthed at the man standing beside the black Cadillac, gun still in hand.

He couldn’t even scream.

Now that he was standing and the headlights weren’t obscuring his vision, he recognized the man pointing the smoking gun at him.

He still couldn’t scream.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Wade Wilson is killed by gunfire from an unnamed man and falls off a ledge. Peter witnesses the death and goes into shock.  
> \---  
> Next chapter will post later today. ♥


	2. His Sheets Hadn't Been Turned Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen Strange sees the death of Peter Parker. May Parker has her suspicions. Tony worries about where his boy is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this fic is very satisfying. :)  
> So, this chapter has some occult magic (not accurately depicted) and some heavy stuff emotionally regarding Stephen and the spirit world.   
> Not much warning, but if you want to make sure, check the end notes.

In a bare-bones basement, outfitted with only a table and two lush red chairs, tapestries are draped along the wall depicting battles of gods no longer worshiped. Stephen Strange was dressed in his usual attire blue robes and a red cape and was telling the fortune of a woman who had been to see him four times in as many months as she attempted to communicate with her dead husband.

Many psychics are hoaxes. Psychics that advertise are often hoaxes. Stephen Strange was one of the few truly gifted psychics in the Northern Hemisphere, and he made his home if the little town of W—— working as a fortune teller, a herbal consultant, and a banisher and contactor of spirits.

May Parker was an elderly woman whose husband had passed only recently, dealing a great blow to herself and her nephew Peter Parker. May was one of the true believers, as Wong had taken to calling them, and she asked him to contact her husband once a month like clockwork, certain that with some time his spirit would make it’s way back to the mortal plane and have something to share with her.

He wouldn’t, and he didn’t, but Stephen was only responsible for telling the facts, not for forcing people to act logically based upon them. When May Parker came in, one hundred dollars in hand and appointment scheduled three days previously to book him for two solid hours, he had all his normal shields down and had thinned the veil as much as could.

Had the timing been any different, had May Parker arrived an hour earlier, or had Stephen chosen not to bother putting his shields down, he may never have received the message. The piercing screams a young boy on his death bed may have never entered his ears. He may never have had to see what he saw, eyes blank as May watched hopefully for a message from her husband.

In an instant, all the life seemed to be drained out of Stephen. He knew a premonition when he felt one, and this wasn’t it. It was a death howl, clear as day, a spirit reaching out in agony as it left the mortal world, and Stephen was helpless to stop it. As soon as it was there it was gone. Even if he had thought to, it happened too quickly for Stephen to try to reach out to ask what had happened.

He only had the vague impression of those final moments, once the spirit had passed, but it was enough.

He couldn’t speak with spirits, not really, the method of spirit communication was often something more along the lines of non-corporeal messages, feelings, maybe vague sounds that could be words, phrases, music even.

He knew without a doubt that the boy he’d just heard die was connected to May Parker. He’d felt his confused spirit reach out in as many directions as it could, towards his closest family and relatives, and he’d felt it reach out to May.

She was waiting eagerly, noticing the shift in his demeanor. Unfortunately, there would be no message that day.

“Mrs. Parker,” Stephen said evenly, picking up his tarot cards and shuffling them, the shaking in his hands making it more difficult than it normally was. “Is there a young man in your life, possibly in high school, who is very important to you? This would be someone very close to you, someone who would come to you if something went wrong.” Stephen had an inkling dread in the back of his mind, but he had to be certain. Most people were at least somewhat sensitive to the other side, and when someone reaches out in the way this spirit had, usually it makes them think of that person, even if they don’t realize something is wrong.

May blinked at the sudden change of subject. “I- Well, yes, my nephew Peter. He won a science fair today.” She smiled, but then it dropped as her eyebrows furrowed. “What has he got to do with Ben?”

“Nothing,” Stephen said, cutting the deck after asking it a silent question. “Nothing at all. I’m afraid-” He drew the first card after the cut and his breath stilled in his lungs at the reaper staring back at him.

Very rarely does the “death” card mean true death, it means the beginning and end of a cycle, usually a personal cycle; changing career paths, ending marriages, new understands. For the first time in his life, Stephen drew the death card and knew without a doubt that it meant the death of a human being. A child. The nephew of the woman sitting in front of him.

“Ms. Parker. I think I’d like to end our session early this evening.” He murmured, putting the card back in the deck without showing it to her. “Wong will refund your money at front.” He put the deck down, the trembling of his hands causing several cards to fall askew.

May reached out, grabbing his wrist, sensing not from the supernatural but from the natural man in front of her that something was amiss. She’d never seen a man go so pale so quickly, except when he was dying, or when he’d just seen something terrible.

“What is it?” She asked, her eyes shining with determination. She wasn’t leaving until he answered, that much he knew. He just didn’t know what he could tell her.

“Ms. Parker,” he sighed and put his other hand gently atop of hers, coaxing her fingers loose. “May,” he said when she started to look manic.

“My Peter, what happens? What do you see?”

Stephen can’t in good conscience answer her question. He never predicts death, not even when he saw it happen right before his eyes. It was only half-past ten, May only had another half hour left of her session, and then Stephen was supposed to be done for the night, but he didn’t think he’d be getting much sleep, the death howl still lingering in his ears.

“I have rules.” He reminds her, giving her the same speech that he’d given her when she’d first sat down at his table. “There are certain things that are beyond my authority to communicate. Go home, Ms. Parker.”

He couldn’t tell May Parker that he’d just seen her nephew die. He had no idea what she filled in in her head instead, but he hoped it wasn’t worse. He hoped that it wasn’t worse than the truth he’d saved her from. Besides being possibly incriminating, it wasn’t his place to interfere in the affairs of a family, not like that.

She’d take the news better from someone who cared about her.

At least, he hoped she would.

May Parker stood up from the table, clutching her purse in both hands as she stumbled out the door and up the stairs to the main part of the building, which was an antique book store run by his associate, Wong. He looked back down at his table, where his tarot deck stood in disarray. Three cards had landed face up, and in the order they appeared, he read them.

Inverted King of Pentacles. Upright Death. Upright Justice.

He breathed slowly, centering and grounding himself, beginning to put his shields up again. It would be a long process, as his shields were more complex than most, but he only had the energy for the basics. When he was certain May Parker was gone he’d call Wong down and ask him for help. He just couldn’t do it on his own.

Stephen had seen a lot of things, predicted a lot of things, but he had never had the displeasure of witnessing death as it happened. In the aftermath, as a shadow of the horror that tragic deaths could be, certainly. He’d witnessed death that way more times than he cared to remember. But in his plush red chair in the basement of an antique shop, he’d felt a dying soul cry out for mercy, and he’d never felt anything so horrible, so heart-wrenching, as the awful sound of life ending.

He needed tea, a nap, and then to spend some time in meditation.

He expected that he’d be getting another visit from May Parker very soon. He wanted to be ready with her answers when she came for them.

* * *

While many people began to question her intelligence (and her sanity) once she started making her monthly visits to Stephen Strange, May Parker was far from an unintelligent woman. She believed in the supernatural, but that did nothing to detract from her logical abilities.

There were several things that Stephen had told her were not within his power to disclose to her lest fear of the thing cause the thing to happen. Among the things he’d promised never to disclose to her was, was death, of herself or any loved one. There were other, similarly horrific, things he had promised never to include in a reading, and all of them were things she would prefer not to happen to Peter Parker, he only living relative and beloved nephew.

She called Tony, his legal guardian, despite the late hour. She needed to hear that Peter was safe and sound. Stephen Strange never did anything without a purpose, and she’d seen that look on his face before. It was the same one he’d had when he had predicted that her small business selling baked goods was going to take off if she just held out a little longer. He’d had a premonition, and he’d asked about Peter, probably to confirm some suspicion he already had.

Maybe he couldn’t contact Ben, but he could contact the spirit world, and someone, somewhere, had a warning for Peter. If she could just hear his voice, she’d feel better.

“May? It’s kind of late for a social call.” Tony sounded a little groggy, she’d probably just woken him from a nap, or maybe he was already asleep. It would be a first, but it wasn’t impossible.

“Yes, I know. Tony, I know it’s inconvenient, but could you get Peter? I just need to make sure he’s alright.”

“Make sure he’s alright?” Tony asked, clearly skeptical. “Why wouldn’t he be?” A beat of silence followed, but before May could answer he sighed. “You haven’t been seeing that psychic again, have you? May, he’s a fake, a fraud, a quack. Peter is fine. He went out with Wade, but they’ll be back by nine.”

“It’s ten-thirty, Tony.” She said quietly, and there was another beat of silence.

“Shit.” He murmured, and she heard the rustling of blankets and heavy footfalls on the ground. “Look, he probably just came in and didn’t wake me. You know how he’s always on me about getting more sleep.” The frantic tone of his voice didn’t convey nearly as much certainly as his words did. She listened to him knocking on Peter’s door and her heart sank the longer he went without getting an answer.

“Peter? Peter! Hey, if you’re awake please say something!”

Silence.

Tony broke one of his own rules and opened the door to Peter’s bedroom without permission and May could hear his teeth grind when the room came up empty.

“I’m going to have to call you back, May.”

He doesn’t say bye, or give her time to. The line beeps and it’s like she never called.

May has a sinking pit in her stomach when she tries to go to sleep that night. She doesn’t sleep a wink.

Neither does Tony Stark.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Stephen has a premonition about Peter's death, and "witnesses" it via Peter's departing spirit. It's not graphically depicted, but it might be emotionally intense. May Parker has some well founded paranoia.   
> A note on the use of tarot in this fic…  
> It’s not accurate. I’m twisting the tarot deck just a bit to fit my needs. Typically, tarot readings are more for yourself or for people who are with you right then. Tarot isn’t really meant to predict the next president or whatever. It’s a personal divination tool, for personal growth and understanding. It’s not meant to be used in this way, at all. So please don’t walk up to your local tarot reader and ask when you’ll die or whatever.   
> Anyway, I’m going to include my interpretation of the cards I said Stephen pulled for the whole mess, but if you don’t want spoilers, probably don’t read the interpretation. If you do tarot… my interpretation is probably not super in line with what you might thing it should be, but I’m kind of twisting the tool anyway so I figured I could twist the interpretation.  
> Interpretation: (Inverted King of Pentacles) There was once a man who put wealth above all other things. He acquired material possessions to his heart’s content, but he was still greedy. He longed for more than he could have, but refused to back down, stubborn as he was. (Death)Instead of settling for his immense wealth, he went after the thing he wanted, but could never have. The way he went after it would be the end of an era, it would cause great grief and shake the foundations of everyone who knew him. (Justice) But ultimately he will answer for his crimes. Maybe not today, but Justice’s scales will weigh him and find him guilty of atrocity. He will be punished accordingly. Of this there is absolute certainty.  
> I will probably tweak the interpretation as I continue writing and get a greater understanding of the story. If I do I’ll edit it here and then put it in the author’s notes of future chapters. ♥  
> Let me know how you’re enjoying the drama! I never write stuff like this, but it’s kind of fun.


	3. The Sun Came Up Like the Day Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony Worries.  
> Stephen Can't See.  
> Tony Gets a Call From the Sheriff.  
> The River Bank is Occupied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just pounding this story out like my life depends on it? So, go ahead and subscribe while you're still at the top of the page ♥  
> Spoiler filled warnings at the end. There is a little bit of gore (not gore) in this chapter.

The night passed in utter chaos for Tony, even though the neighbor’s house light stayed off until 6am. He called Peter more times than any sane person should have and had sent him 60 unread texts. At around 2am, desperate to know where his boy was, Tony even pinged his cellphone’s location and drove out to the diner where his location was last recorded. It was closed, and there was no sign of Wilson’s bike anywhere, but at least it gave Tony something to do.

The roads were empty except for the drunks driving home after last call, so Tony took it easy, watching for any sign of Wilson’s bike, or perhaps his hitchhiking son on the slow drive back to their house.

Tony had taken Peter in when he was a just four years old, and moved to W—- to be closer to Peter’s only living relatives, May and Benjamin Parker. He’d run his company remotely and raised Peter in an old colonial-style house that had needed renovating but was still relatively well kept.

He used to sit on the front porch and watch the sunrise with Peter when they both couldn’t sleep, Peter because of grief and Tony because of his normal bouts of insomnia.

It seemed wrong to sit there, on the porch, watching the sky turn grey, purple, red, orange, without Peter there. Not upstairs sleeping in. Not spending the night at a friends house. Lost somewhere where Tony couldn’t find him. Maybe scared, maybe alone. Maybe dead.

He didn’t want to think it, but the thought crept up on him even when he didn’t want it to. The impending doom that only grew the longer he didn’t know where his son was. Every police officer he’d talked to had told him that there was nothing they could do until he’d been missing for 24 hours.

By then it could already be too late.

The sun shouldn’t be allowed to rise when he didn’t even know where Peter was. Missing children were for night time, best kept under the cover of darkness. Sunrises were for beginnings, good beginnings, making coffee and watching Peter put far too much sugar in his and gripe at Tony’s bitter black mug. Sunrises were for family. And all of Tony’s to speak of was just gone.

Tony went inside to count down the hours until 9am when he could officially file a missing person’s report. The empty coffee pot wasn’t refilled, despite the time of the morning and the sleepless night before, because every cup he’d had all night had tasted like ash in his mouth. If he hadn’t been desperately waiting for Peter to come home he wouldn’t have bothered making himself coffee at all. But he’d wanted to be awake in case Peter called.

Now Tony was sure his anxiety would keep him from falling asleep, no caffeine boost necessary.

* * *

The small two-bedroom apartment that Wong and Stephen shared on the upper floor of the antique shop was eerily unoccupied at 6am. It’s two occupants were both otherwise engaged, each with an important task. Stephen was sitting in his basement workspace, still, attempting to contact the spirit of Peter Parker. It would have been easier with some kind of personal effect, or even a loved one nearby, but Stephen didn’t have access to either of those things. Instead, he’d dragged his shields down at 3am that morning and started trying to contact the deceased, looking for answers.

Wong was beginning to worry about the mystic man. He had gone down right after May Parker had left with her money and found Stephen half gone in his head, barely grounded and spiritually drifting. Wong had shut that down immediately. Covering Stephen’s scarred hands with his own and bringing the man back to himself in record time and building up a shield around him until he was strong enough to do it himself.

When he had asked Stephen what had happened he’d just kept muttering, “I can’t. I can’t.”

That had been hours ago, and Stephen still hadn’t been upstairs. This lead to Wong having anxiety of his own about what this could possibly mean. Stephen was gifted in the mystic arts in ways Wong could only ever dream of being, but he was new to his skills and prone to lapses in judgment that had the potential to end badly for him. Wong didn’t know what Stephen had seen when he spoke to May Parker, but whatever it was, it had been too much for him to finish the last 25 minutes of a 2-hour session, and refund the money. Stephen was a lot of things, but quick to refund money wasn’t among those things.

He didn’t want to know what Stephen saw, but he needed to.

So, at 6am the apartment was deserted because Wong was already making his way to the basement level where Stephen had spent the night doing Vishanti knew what.

He pushed aside the sheer curtains at the bottom of the stairs and found Stephen still sitting in his normal chair, several large pillar candles burned down to half their size and a scrying bowl placed on the red covered table cloth. Wong stepped into the room cautiously, testing the energies for hostilities.

“You can come in,” Stephen said, eyes never averting from the scrying bowl. “If I was going to see anything I would have hours ago I just… can’t stop searching.”

Wong decided not to point out that if he was aware enough to both acknowledge his presence and speak to him then attempting to scry was useless anyway. Instead, he let Stephen continue staring into the shallow black bowl, water reflecting it’s high polish finish as he walked further into the room, taking the seat opposite Stephen where clients usually sat.

“What did you see that made you send May Parker home early last night?” Wong had never been the kind of person to beat around the bush. It was one of the reasons he and Stephen were such good friends.

“Her nephew was murdered.” He said it was such finality that Wong didn’t even question if it was true. Stephen didn’t say things with certainty unless they were certain. He didn’t guess. He didn’t make conjectures. If he didn’t know something, he said he didn’t know it and he found out the answer. He knew this. Wong could see the truth of it just in the hunch of his shoulders.

“How?”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be scrying, now would I?” Stephen’s teeth gritted on the last few words and Wong was tempted to say something smart back, but it wouldn’t be productive.

“The Parker boy, Tony’s?” Wong asked, though they both knew May Parker only had one nephew. The curse of being in a small town.

“Yes.”

Wong took a breath to center himself as he processed that.

“What did you see?” The question is the same, but different. He’s not asking what Stephen literally saw, just how bad it was, how intense it was. Seeing death can range anywhere from the simple knowledge that death is imminent to the complete enactment of death.

“I heard his death howl. I felt his spirit move on. I just… There was something there. I could see it, like I was looking through his eyes, just for a moment. If I could just see it more clearly-”

“There’s nothing you can do, Stephen.” Wong stopped him, reaching out and laying his hand over one of Stephen’s where it was braced against the table. “Even if you see something, there’s nothing you can do.”

“They might-”

“They won’t. You need rest. You have an appointment at 3pm today.”

“Cancel it.” He said, pushing away from the table, shaking it in the process and sloshing the water out of the scrying bowl and onto the red table cloth, turning it from bright to deep blood red. “I can’t see anyone today.”

Stephen stormed up the stairs and Wong sighed, picking up the scrying bowl and the wet table cloth to pour the water down the drain and blowing out the burned down pillar candles that were the only result of a night-long vigil at the scrying bowl.

* * *

Tony’s phone rang at 8:02 that fateful Thursday morning, and Tony nearly missed it because of the ringing in his ears and vibrating of his entire body, wired on more panic than caffeine. He was sitting on the couch, staring at a blank television screen and willing Peter to come home when he felt recognized the vibration in his pants for something more than simply his own anxiety. He stood and fumbled his phone out of his pocket and recognized the sheriff's number. He answered it, frantic and shaking, only the single-minded purpose of finding Peter keeping him upright.

“Mr. Stark.” The sheriff said before Tony could even say hello. His voice was gruff on a normal day, but there was a certain gravity to it that sent chills up Tony’s spine.

“Sheriff, what’s the-”

“I’m sending a squad car over to pick you up. I need you to come and give a statement about your boy.”

“Yes, anything,” Tony said immediately, already looking for his shoes which he’d kicked under the couch in a fit of hopelessness at about 4am. “Is there any news? Have they found Wilson? He’ll know something. He was the last person with-”

“Mr. Stark. We’ll talk about this when you get here. Just be ready. I’ve got a squad car coming, eta 5 minutes.”

Tony didn’t like the sheriff’s reluctance to talk. He wasn’t saying something, but what he wasn’t saying could be anything.

No news was good news, or so he wanted to believe.

“Alright, I’ll be ready.”

“Good. I’ll meet you out front when you get here.”

The sheriff hung up and Tony nearly screamed, but he forced the outburst back down, clenching his fists and closing his eyes and willing himself to be calm. He wasn’t going to be any help if he was frantic. He needed to be calm.

He took a deep breath and then shoved his feet into his shoes, grabbed his wallet and went outside to wait for the squad car to pick him up.

* * *

The sheriff's department hadn’t started a search yet, not officially, but officers were asked to BOLO for Wilson, his bike, and Parker.

Most of the officers thought this was just Peter Parker finally deciding to rebel and Tony Stark overreacting. It was normal for teenagers to stay out all night and not tell their parents where they were going.

But those officers didn’t know Peter Parker.

He had lost his parents on a night much like the night Tony lost him. Clear, unassuming, just home a little bit late, no need to worry, Peter, go on up to bed.

Except they weren’t going to be home late. They were never coming home at all.

Four-year-old Peter knew his parents always called the sitter when they were coming home later than they expected, but there was no call. There never would be.

A boy like that doesn’t forget to call his pseudo-father when he’s coming home late.

They’d realize their mistake when a waterlogged body showed up on the rock bed downstream, nearly two miles out of town. A local fisherman had caught the boy’s boot and it had dragged him downstream long enough for him to find the rest of the body, eyes grey and washed out, mouth hanging agape and skin sallow from a night spent in the river. He called the cops, none-the-wiser to who the boy was, but the entire force knew the look of the Wilson boy, even with a bullet hole through his forehead and bl

Nobody suspected Parker. They just suspected Parker might also be dead.

No one wanted to tell Tony Stark how right he was, or how sorry they were, but it had to be done.

Teens runoff. Teens do stupid things.

Not Peter Parker.

Even if they had listened to Tony when he called them at 10:30 to report his son missing, they would have been too late for them both.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Tony Panics a bit, but mostly there's a semi-graphic depiction of Wade Wilson's dead body after it's been in the river all night, with depiction of his gunshot wound to the head. Skip the last section if you won't want to see that. Stay safe. :)  
> The depiction isn't really accurate, because I didn't really want to look up pictures of waterlogged dead bodies. Just based on what I know from 2 CSI classes and a lot of TV.  
> A Note on the magic used in this chapter (for the witchy/witchy inclined):  
> So... this is not really how scrying works. Again. I mean, yes, the reflective surface, water in the bowl thing is a legitimate method of scrying, but if you were to scry, you wouldn't do it to try to see a murder. Probably. Not in any of the witchcraft circles I run in anyway. Stephen here is trying to tap into his own memory of the murder more than to a vision of the past though, so it could be possible? Also, the way I'm depicting "energy" is kind of... yeah it's not super accurate either, but I'm playing with the magic for the purposes of narrative.  
> Also, psychic shields are a real thing, and people can kind of pull you into theirs, but they can't put shields up for you and then leave, as far as I know. It has to be your own energy sustaining the shield. I liked the image of Wong grounding and building up a shield for Stephen though so... here we are.  
> This will update daily until it's finished since the chapters are so short.   
> Kudos and comments are always appreciated! ♥


	4. Footsteps in Muddy Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker Flashback.  
> Tony Talks to the Police.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See bottom for more indepth warning. Fear and panic feature prominently in this chapter. Also a gun. Be safe :)

_Wednesday Night._

_8:30pm._

_“Please, Sir, you don’t have to do this. You don’t have to! I won’t tell anyone, just please let me go.” Peter Parker sobbed, snot and tears streaming down his face as he slogged through the mud at the edge of the creek bank, just far enough in the water that by morning the prints would be obscured._

_“Shut up! Keep moving.” The man who shot Wade Wilson pushed the barrel of his gun into the middle of Peter’s back. Peter jumped away from it and stumbled into the mud. He barely managed to catch his glasses with his shoulder before they fell off his face, pushing them back up and wetting the in the process._

_Blurring lenses were the last thing he was worried about as the dusk turned to darkness and the only way he could navigate was by the light of the flashlight behind him._

_“Please.” He whispered, not looking back as he continued to stumble through the mud. “Please, I don’t wanna die. I don’t wanna die.”_

_The man just pushed him further, not caring for the teen’s pleading._

_Peter just feels lucky that his asthma hasn’t kicked in yet. His inhaler is still in his pocket, but with his hands bound and a gun to his back, he wasn't sure if he’d be able to get to it, even if his captor would let him._

_Peter’s foot got stuck in the mud and he tried to pull it out, but it was stuck. “I can’t- wait, please, I’m stuck. I’m stuck!”_

_The butt of the gun hit Peter in the shoulder and he cried out, whimpering from the pain and doubling over his knees as he tried not to scream. “Shut up. Keep moving!” The man hissed, gripping Peter’s arm in his leather-gloved hand and wrenching him out of the mud. Peter bit his tongue to keep from screaming as the suction pulled his ankle out of place._

_“Please.” He whimpered as he kept walking, now limping on his injured ankle. “Please.”_

_But his begging fell on deaf ears._

* * *

The officer that dropped Tony off at the sheriff’s station wasn’t a particularly talkative woman. Tony didn’t blame her. He also didn’t blame her for the look of irritation that crawled over her face as they made the drive to the sheriff’s station as Tony’s chattering became more and more insufferable.

Talking was how he coped with stress. Sue him.

She was considering it.

He wished that he could present a strong front to the crew at the station who watched him come in, went silent as they did so, but he was a mess. He knew it and they could all see it. Dark circles ringed his eyes, his usually steady hands had a tremor to them, and his eyes were just short of being totally manic.

“Mr. Stark.” The sheriff said, taking Tony’s hand and shaking it as the man came in. Tony’s heart sank as he looked over the sheriff’s stoic eyes. No reassurance, no fake niceties, not even so much as a “good to see you.”

He feared the worst. “What’d they find?” he asked, tears already prickling his eyes, no matter how he willed them not to.”

“Mr. Stark, why don’t we step into my office. I’ll take your statement myself.” The sheriff’s mustache twitched when he spoke, and Tony looked at it and then at him.

“Yeah.” He finally said, not wanting the whole station to hear him break down. “Yeah, let’s do that.”

Tony didn’t shrug off the hand on his back that steered him to the back of the station. He didn’t look back at the eyes that he could feel following him. He held his head high and spine straight, but they could all see it. The deputies and officers lingering around the station in that early hour all saw the tension and fear lining the very being of Tony Stark and they felt nothing but pity for him.

No one deserved to hear the news that he was about to hear.

They’d already called and sent away Mrs. Wilson, Mr. Wilson being away on business until Friday. He’d be making his way home in the next hour.

Tony flinched at the final sounding click of the sheriff’s office door closing, but he tried not to let it show. He clenched his fists and dug his nails into the squishy flesh there to try and refocus his mind on the situation at hand.

“Sit, go ahead.” The sheriff said, gesturing to the overstuffed faux-leather chair that had to be replaced near yearly. “You want any coffee? You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”

It’s the wrong thing to say as Tony’s shoulder’s slump and he drops into the chair. “I couldn’t sleep. I just… He wouldn’t just not call. Not if nothing was wrong.” He said, pleading his case to the sheriff yet again, but he didn’t realize how little pleading needed to be done now.

“Mr. Stark,” the sheriff began, sitting down in his own chair on the other side of the desk to put some distance between them. He linked his hands on the desk and leaned forward, only adding to Tony’s alarm.

“OH no. No. Don’t- Don’t tell me. Don’t tell me you found him. Not- Please, not Peter-.”

“No.” The sheriff took a deep breath and shook his head, forcing the words out. This was his least favorite part of his job, as insufferable as the job of sheriff was. There wasn’t anything much worse than having to give a worried parent bad news. “The body of Wade Wilson washed up on the river this morning. We… We’re making the search for your boy a number one priority. I’ve got people gearing up with K9s and trackers. Got my best detective on it. We’re doing everything we can, but we need some more information from you.”

“Oh god.” Tony groaned, dropping his face into his shaking hands. “Oh god, Peter.” Tony felt the tears that had been pricking at his eyes make a traitorous bid for freedom, and the damp saltwater slicked his hands and slipped between his fingers. Tony was powerless to stop them.

“We’re not presuming him dead.” The sheriff said, like that made Tony feel any better. “The working theory is that he’s been kidnapped, held for ransom probably. First, Mr. Stark, has there been any threats on you or Peter in the last month, maybe longer?” The sheriff already had a notepad and pen on the desk, but he didn’t make a move to pick them up. “Mr. Stark, I know this is difficult, but time is an important factor. The more we know, the sooner we know it-”

“The better.” Tony stopped him. “The sooner we find him.” Tony gasped and forced himself to sit up straight, wringing his hands in front of him and steeling himself for the conversation he was about to have. “I haven’t had any threats in years. But you might want to talk to my head of security, Happy. He screens all the angry emails and hate mail.” Tony reached for his phone and shakily thumbed through it for Happy’s number. “I just texted you his number. Call him.” He nodded and then looked at the Sheriff’s pad. “Next question.”

“When was the last time you saw Peter?”

“At about five-thirty yesterday evening he asked me if he could go with his boyfriend to that diner in town, the good one, Angie’s.” He relayed details as he recalled them, his mind to jumbled to tell the story in once piece. “He was still wearing a white button-down and one of my ties. He refused to let me buy him a tie. Said it was for luck.” Tony laughed and another round of tears made a run for the still-fresh tracks on his cheeks. “Hate the suit. I bought him that suit a month ago, to get it tailored. He didn’t want a tie.” He gritted his teeth and filled his lungs with air, like filling a gun with ammunition, only to aim it back at himself. “He was still wearing the pants and the shirt when he left. Black pants, white shirt, black shoes. He’s 5’7” a hundred… forty pounds? I haven’t asked, I don’t know, that’s a guess. I should know that, stupid.” He smacked himself in the side of the head and tried to think harder. “He was wearing his glasses, they’re blue and red, bright, huge, hard to miss. Got a little spider engraved right here.” He pointed to the same spot on his own glasses, the spot where the arm covered the hinge, the right side of the frames. “Like a cartoon, his friend drew it for him. I bet I can get her to send me a picture.” He looked at his phone and realized that he didn’t actually have Peter’s friend’s number. “Later. I’ll get you that later. Okay-”

“A picture would be helpful, for us to circulate, get everyone looking. It’s harder for guys like this to get away when the public is looking for the kid.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, “I think I’ve got the shitty ones they do at school. Yeah, here.” He said sending the picture to the sheriff directly from his camera roll. “Blank background, just Pete. I’ll email you a high-quality one later. What else?”

“Can you tell me anything more about where they might have gone last night? We sent people to Angie’s to try and get what we can there, but do you know where they might have been going next?”

“No, I don’t know. Maybe Wade’s. Obviously, they didn’t make it there.” He’d called Mrs. Wilson at home at 10:30 at night to confirm that they’d never made it there. “But if they were taken before they could get where they were going-”

“Mr. Stark, why don’t you just leave the theories to me and my people? Are there any spots you know of that the two of them or Peter frequented?”

“Um, Ned’s place is a pretty popular spot for him and his friends, but Ned didn’t see them either. And that kid wouldn’t lie to me, he pees his pants every time he sees me. The movies, maybe? But they never would have had time to see something before he said he would be home!” Tony punched the air and threw himself back in his chair, because he’d already done this song and dance himself, running through any and every place they might have gone. “He couldn’t just disappear!” Tony started to sob and the sheriff looked at him and the pad he’d been taking notes on, pursing his lips and considering the most appropriate course of action that would also keep him from being uncomfortable.

“I - uh, think that will be all for now, Mr. Stark. We’ll talk to his friends, see if they have any idea where he might have gone. We’re going everything we can to find him, sir, I assure you-”

“Well stop. Stop assuring me.” Tony said through a harsh sniff, wiping his nose on the cuff of the hoodie he’d thrown on in a rush that morning. “Just find him.”

The sheriff nodded and then looked at his office door. “I’ll have someone drive you home. If you can just-”

“I’ll walk,” Tony said, leaving the office without looking back.

His anger was not at the sheriff or anyone else who was working to help him find his son. His anger was at himself for not being able to keep track of his son. His own incompetence.

Kidnap. For what? Ransom? Tony hadn’t even thought about that in years. But of course. What else? Why else would someone kidnap his son if not to ask him for an exorbitant amount of money, because they knew he would give it to them!

He screamed at nothing as soon as the door to the sheriff’s station closed behind him. Frustration, fury, and fear leaving his body in a single moment, replaced by weariness, complete and utter exhaustion. He couldn’t save his son. He could just sit around and wait to give someone money. A lot of money.

He’d do it. Anything they wanted. If only Peter would be safe and sound at home again by lunch, he’d do anything.

He fell to his knees and started to sob, so preoccupied with his grief that he didn’t even hear someone approaching.

A light hand grasped his shoulder and Tony looked up, ready to scream again at an officer, but it wasn’t law enforcement.

“Why don’t you let me give you a ride home?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Peter Parker begs for his life as a man holds a gun to his back and forces him to walk through the river. Tony has a bit of a melt down out of frustration, possibly the beginnings of an anxiety attack if you squint. Passive self-harm behaviors as Tony tries to cope with talking about Peter to the police.
> 
> So, we have a possible motive! Is the kidnapper just someone who wants money? Well, I guess you'll just have to wait and see ;)  
> Updates daily!


	5. Red Cloaked Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker Flashback.  
> It's Not About Stephen (But It Is).  
> May Gives Tony a Ride.  
> Obadiah Comes to Town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!  
> Not much to warn for, just more of the same. Peter is still being threatened with a gun.

_Wednesday Night._

_8:47pm._

_The sun sinks lower, just dim red light and the brightest stars revealing the river Peter Parker and his assailant trudge down. The water is cold, deep in his socks and shoes, making his feet and the bottom of his pants soggy. It bothers him, but he can’t stop to think about it. He just has to keep walking, because if he slows down too much the gun just presses harder between his shoulder blades, right behind his heart._

_He won’t survive a shot if the gunman takes it now. He’ll end up just like Wade, dead in the water, floating downstream._

_Peter can’t think about that. Can’t think about Wade. Not yet. He just has to get through this, whatever this is, and then he’ll be okay. He has to be. Tony will come and save him. He has to._

_He feels like they’ve been walking for hours, but it can’t be that long. Terror skews his sense of time. His breathing is bordering dangerously on asthmatic, but he’s too afraid to say anything. He’ll need his inhaler soon. He shouldn’t wait._

_He waits._

_His ankle aches and makes his steps precarious, every wrench to drag his feet out of the mud of the riverbank causing a shooting pain up his leg, but he can’t stop. He can’t stop._

_The gunman takes him by the shoulder, steers them away from the riverbank, toward a house._

_Peter finds a high whine of a laugh bubbling up in his throat because he’d let a kidnapper get him to a secondary location._

_“Shut up,” the man hissed in his ear, “Or I’ll shoot you just like I did your little boyfriend.”_

_Peter is sobbing, but he grits his teeth and forces his mouth to stay closed to muffle the sounds. The tears in his eyes obscure the path they’re taking, but he thinks he knows it._

* * *

Stephen Strange had been asleep for approximately thirty minutes when he was jolted awake by his own premonition. The impending footsteps, the coming conflict, he was going to be tangled up in it, and it was coming his way. Had already come his way in the form of a woman who only wanted to speak with her deceased husband. He sat up in bed so suddenly that his head spun and his vision went black before he could get up and get dressed.

“Stephen,” Wong said from his place in the sitting area with a clear view through Stephen’s open door whenever he bothered to look up from his book. He’d kept the shop closed for an extra hour that morning to keep an eye on Stephen, having been afraid of exactly this. He just wanted his friend to get some sleep. “Stephen, what is it?”

“We have visitors coming, Wong. We need to be ready.” Stephen blinked away the exhaustion in his mind, willing himself to stay awake a little longer.

Wong scoffed at Stephen as he watched his eyes go in and out of focus. “Whoever they are, they can wait. You’re not well enough-”

“I’m fine,” Stephen said, throwing the covers off of him and onto the floor, grabbing his red cloak before even his boots. “I’m fine.” He repeats when he tries to get out of bed and stumbles just a little. “Make me some tea. Strong. Black. I have to- I have to get dressed.” He swayed a little on his feet but caught himself on the bedpost. He grimaced and hissed at the pain that shot up his hand, but he turned his face away to try and keep the reaction from Wong.

“Your hands are usually a good indicator of the rest of your health,” Wong said, glaring at Stephen and crossing his arms over his chest. “Would you like to tell me again that you are fine?”

“No, I wouldn’t, because I don’t owe you an explanation. I’m fine if I say I’m fine.” He barely managed a steady walk across his small bedroom so he could close the door, slamming it a little harder than necessary.

Wong didn’t jump at the slamming door. He’d expected as much from Stephen. Despite knowing that it wasn’t a good idea, he trudged to their small kitchen to put a kettle on and pull down one mug from the cabinet where they usually kept them. Wong’s mug from that morning was still sitting on the table with his discarded book, so he only took out the one for Stephen.

The kettle had barely begun to boil when Stephen came out, dressed in his usual robes, the ties and belts only a little bit sloppy and his boots more loosely laced than was normal.

“Tea.” He said as he sunk down into one of the two chairs at the kitchen island that also doubled as their dining table. Wong glared at Stephen, but took the kettle off and poured the boiling water over a fresh bag of black tea and put the mug down in front of Stephen, just hard enough to create an audible slam without letting any of the boiling liquid slosh out.

Stephen glared at the steaming cup, knowing that it would be too hot to drink for some time. Wong didn’t even flinch when that same glare turned on him.

“I know you’re mad, but this was unnecessary.”

“You don’t make tea in the microwave.”

“That is what the microwave is for!” Stephen yelled, without really meaning to, as he pointed at the under-utilized appliance. “For making things hot quickly! Quickly! I can’t drink this!”

Wong watched as Stephen shoved away from the table and stumbled, the half-hour of sleep not enough to consolidate for over 24 straight hours of being away. “They are coming. I have to be ready.” He caught himself on the barstool and then straightened his spine. “I’ll be downstairs. I have to clean up-”

“I took care of it.” Wong deadpanned, watching Stephen flounder.

“I still have to-”

“No, you don’t.” Wong sighed, “You don’t have to do anything Stephen. You don’t owe the world your gift.”

Stephen looked back at Wong over his shoulder, not coordinated enough to turn around. “Oh, but I do. It’s not about me, Wong. It’s never been about me.”

Wong glared, the words of that woman being thrown in his face like acid in the air between them. “Go then.”

“I was planning on it.”

He continued across the small apartment to the door, and down the stairs, never once looking back at Wong, even though Wong kept his eye out for Stephen’s stumbling the entire time.

* * *

“May,” Tony whispered, the soft touch registering as hers immediately. “I’m, uh, I’m sorry, I didn’t think anyone was out here.” He laughed and got to his feet, brushing the dirt off his day-old jeans and straightening his hoodie. “Just a little worried. You understand.”

May nodded, more than understanding the kind of frustration that caused one to scream in a sheriff station parking lot. “They called me in as part of the investigation. I don’t see either of your cars here. Do you want a ride?” She repeated the question she’d announced her presence with.

Tony started to shake his head, but May Parker’s imploring eyes were too much to deny. “That’d be nice. Thank you.” He stretched his lips into a strained smile and wished he’d grabbed a pair of prescription sunglasses on his way out the door instead of the standard lenses. He felt exposed.

“I’m parked around back. Come on.” She took his arm by the crook of the elbow and started steering him in that direction when he couldn’t quite make himself move.

Tony didn’t remember most of the car ride, or even getting into the car, but he came back to himself as soon as they pulled up to his driveway, Peter’s car sitting there like Peter might be home. Except he wasn’t home. The tears that Tony had forgotten to cry came back full force and he collapsed over the dashboard, trying to hide his sobs, not caring that it was futile. He pushed his glasses up his face, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and two fingers, his lips quavering when he managed to keep them from parting around sobs.

May felt her heart clench for both Peter and Tony and reached over to rub Tony’s shoulder. She never expected to particularly like Tony Stark, let alone come to care for him, but watching him with Peter over the last twelve years had not only warmed her up to the billionaire but had convinced her that he was a good, kind man. She didn’t know why she’d ever thought otherwise, the way that he had uprooted himself to make sure Peter was close to his remaining family.

“Tony,” May murmured, trying to drag him out of his head. “Let’s get you inside, maybe to bed. You don’t look like you’ve slept all night.”

Tony smiled sharply, refusing to meet May’s eyes as he let out a bitter laugh. “Did you?”

May smiled sympathetically and squeezed his shoulder. “Of course not. All the more reason to get some sleep.”

“Can you even think about sleeping with Pete out there.” He leaned back in his seat, a defeated edge to the slump of his shoulders. “They think he’s been kidnapped. For ransom.” He closed his eyes against the bright morning sun and his own tears. “I never should have become his guardian. I should have just… just told that social worker to fuck right off. Then he’d be safe. He’d be home, with you, right now.” He looked at her, and the redness of his tear-stained face was matched by bloodshot eyes, complimented the by deep green-blue circles beneath them. His breath caught on his words when he finally managed to choke them out through his fresh tears. “He’d be safe if it weren’t for me.”

May looked sympathetic, but then her eyes hardened and she straightened up. May was a kind woman, but she also didn’t stand for much nonsense, which is exactly what Tony was spouting.

“Now you listen to me, Tony Stark. When bad people do bad things, it is never the fault of the person who is the victim of those bad things.”

Tony laughed, covering his mouth with his hand like that might stop it.

“I told Peter that when Richard and Mary didn’t come home. When that social worker dropped him with me.” He laughed and shook his head, mania creeping into his eyes. “I don’t know what they were thinking, leaving him to me. Look. Look at what I’ve done May!”

May sighed put the car back in gear, pulling out of the driveway to Tony’s house and heading back down the road, in the same direction they’d just come.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked, trying to get out of the car, but she locked the door.

“We are going to go see a man about Peter.”

“What? What man? What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything, but Stephen Strange sent me away early from my appointment last night, right before I called you.”

“Wait- Shit, May are you talking about that psychic at the antique shop? You’re still seeing that guy? May!” Tony hit the dashboard to try and get her attention. “I’m not going to pay to listen to fake platitudes from a psychic. Let me out. I’ll walk back to my place.”

“Tony, he asked me about Peter. Right before I called you and we realized he was missing. That’s not just a coincidence. It can’t be.”

“He was manipulating you, May! He’s still manipulating you! Has he let you ‘talk’ to Ben or is he just taking your money without providing a genuine service.”

“He’s never asked me to come back or tried to force me to. After our first session, he was the one who told me that there was no point in continuing. I told him to keep trying.” She sighed and turned onto the road that would take them out of town. “I know what everyone thinks of me for seeing him, but half the people in this town have gone and seen him at one point. I’m just not ashamed of it.”

They sit in silence but Tony doesn’t have the energy to continue his protests, just let’s may drive and decides that he’s not going to get out of the car.

* * *

It’s still rather early in the morning, and Obadiah Stane is driving into town, determined to surprise Tony and Peter after their science fair win. He pulls into the driveway and thinks that he’s in luck, all the cars are still there. He pulls the small gift bag with Peter’s name on it out of the passenger seat and walks up to Tony’s front door, knocking loudly enough to wake him and the boy if they’re still sleeping.

“I know it’s early, but I came as soon as I heard! I thought I’d treat you and the boy to breakfast!” He knocked a little louder on the door when no answer was forthcoming, and one of the neighbors popped her head and then the rest of her body out of her own front door, only clad in a fluffy pink robe over a pair of leggings.

“Mr. Stark’s not home.” The woman called from her porch, loud enough for Obadiah to hear her. He looked at her and then at the three cars parked in the driveway, raising a questioning eyebrow at her.

She shrugged and kicked a rock off her porch. “Police picked him up in a car this morning. He looked just awful.”

Obadiah smiled tightly at her. “Any idea why?”

“Kid didn’t come home last night.” Was all she said before going back inside, not wanting to entertain the bald man any longer on her one day off for the week.

Obadiah glanced from her closing door to Tony’s locked one and sighed, getting back in his car to see if he needed to bail Tony out of jail. Again. It hadn’t happened in so long Obadiah was more than a little bit disappointed.

The bright red gift bag was thrown onto the floorboard of the passenger seat, landing near a pair of glasses half obscured beneath the seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! :D


	6. With His Tarot Cards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter arrives at a Secondary Location.  
> May and Tony Meet a Wizard.  
> Obadiah Looks for Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Stephen meeting May and Tony Scene gave me a heck of a lot of trouble. I'm still not completely happy with it, but that's as good as it's going to get without me rewriting once the entire story is finished. :)   
> More of the same warning wise. If you're still here you've seen it all before. :)

_ Wednesday night. _

_ 8:50. _

_ Peter Parker and his captor cross the river where it’s the most shallow, getting Peter soaked all the way up to his pants. If his phone hadn’t already been destroyed back on the rock shelf it wouldn’t have stood a chance through the waist-deep river that they waded through. Peter had stopped begging, realizing that his energy was better saved for thinking about how to get out. First and foremost, he was Tony Stark’s ward. He wasn’t the mechanical genius that Tony was, but he knew that if he just took the right opportunity he could find a way to get away, get help, send someone to find Wade. _

_ A fresh wave of tears fell at the memory of Wade’s blank stare. He was beginning to get the feeling that that image would haunt him forever. _

_ He’s pushed up a path that he’d walked too many times to count, towards one of Tony’s many properties on the town. It’s abandoned this time of year, unairconditioned and poorly insolated as it was. It was only really any good to stay in the winter months, with the fireplace going and the two of them sitting on opposite ends of the couch, contented and working on their own projects, both talking out loud but not usually talking to each other. _

_ He didn’t want to be there in the summer, with a gun to his back and his boyfriend in the river. _

_ Peter took the path carefully, trying not to injure his ankle anymore. He suspected that if he got away he’d have to run. His inhaler wasn’t much of a weight in his pocket, but it's presence was a relief. _

_ “Lots of memories here.” The man behind him says as he forces Peter up the stairs, unlocking the door with a brand new key. It wasn’t necessary to have his own copy, there was one under the loose middle railing post that could only be dislodged with a stick hidden in the flower pot. Peter didn’t see the need to mention that. “We’ll make a few more.” His voice is grating, too close to Peter’s ear, flicking spit and too hot breath at his cheek. _

_ Peter shudders, but he can’t scream. He can’t. If he does he’ll be shot. If he’s going to get out he has to play along. _

_ It was easier said than done. _

_ The door opened and Peter was pushed inside. He fell to his knees, pants dripping wet onto the old hardwood floors. He hoped that maybe Tony would be there, may he decided that he wanted to grab an old winter coat for some unknown reason. Maybe he left his favorite tablet and was finally getting around to getting it, anything. His vision went white as the lights came on and Peter saw the state of the room. _

_ Every piece of furniture was covered in plastic. The rug was rolled up. The cabin was sweltering from the lack of airflow and Peter started to really have an asthma attack. _

_ Or maybe it was a panic attack. Tony got those. _

_ “Hey, shut up!” the man yelled, hitting Peter in the back of the head with the gun and causing Peter to collapse onto his hands and knees. _

_ He hadn’t even realized he was screaming until he stopped suddenly from the force of the blow, coughing and gasping. His throat was raw with his desperate bids to get someone’s attention. Anyone’s. _

_ He had a sinking feeling that no matter what he did, he wasn’t getting out alive. _

* * *

May pulled up in front of the antique store, and was surprised to see Wong just flipping the sign from “Closed” to “Open.” She turned the car off and turned her entire body to face Tony. “We’re going to go in, and we’re going to ask him what he saw about Stephen. I know you don’t believe, but I do.”

“It’s not just that I don't believe,” Tony said, a harsh look in his eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I believe that he’s lying to you. He’s scamming you. I’m not going to let him scam me too.”

“I’ve never mentioned Peter before. I know it’s a small town, but he had no way of knowing that he might be in trouble, that last night would be the night he wouldn’t come home. He had a premonition, and I want to know what it was.” When May was determined there were very few things that could get her to give up. Tony doubted that anything he had to say would make a difference.

But maybe it wouldn’t need to.

“It’s a pretty big coincidence that he mentioned Peter. Did he mention him by name?” Tony asked, the thread of an idea forming in the back of his mind as he questioned May.

“He asked if there was someone in my life who was young, close to me, might come to me if something was wrong. As soon as I said there was he told me that he was ending the session early and he refunded my money from the last session. But it’s not just what he said. He looked scared, Tony. He saw something, and we deserve to know what.”

“Or he did something.” Tony murmured, unbuckling his seatbelt and hastily getting out of the car, “Maybe his guilty conscience got the better of him.”

May stared after him but then scrambled to get her own seatbelt off and get out of the car. “Tony, no! That’s not-”

“It’s more plausible than that he saw the future, May.” He said storming into the antique shop and searching the high shelves for any sign of the man who had turned the sign over just a few minutes before. “Hey! I’m looking for Strange! Where is he!?” He yelled, the noise echoing in the room and making Wong pop his head up from behind the counter, where he was pulling out some smaller items that he didn’t usually leave on the counter over the night in case of non-human entities.

“I’m not in the habit of serving customers who come in first thing in the morning screaming. Who are you?” Wong asked, dusting off his hands despite them being completely clean and fixing Tony was an even gaze.

“I am the man whose kid just disappeared. Maybe you’ve heard of me.” He glared and crossed his arms, eyes unwavering and mouth held in a hard line. His previous tears were forgotten again for anger verging on rage at the very thought that a man involved with Peter’s disappearance might be standing in front of him.

Wong nodded, and then looked at May who had come in behind Tony. “It’s good to see you again, Mrs. Parker. Stephen was expecting visitors.” He looked pointedly at Tony. “I assume that means the two of you. He’s downstairs.” Wong nodded to May, and she nodded back, taking Tony by the arm and leading him down the stairs to the basement where Stephen usually gave readings, performed healing magic and occasionally performed seances.

“That easy, huh. Is this a pay after service is rendered kind of deal?” Tony asked, eyeing the enclosed stairs skeptically. They reached the door to the basement and found it open to the front parlor of Stephen’s workspace. There were already two cups of tea on a small table, two elegant chairs poised on either side of it and a larger, bulkier, chair about a foot in front of it, but no magician in sight.

“No, Wong usually takes my payment upstairs. Stephen doesn’t handle money.” She went into the room and looked around it. The tapestries on the wall gave Tony the creeps and the beaded curtain leading into the larger part of the workspace was discordant and somehow ominous. Tony didn’t like it.

“Of course, what wizard can be expected to handle such mundane things as money. “Hello! Anyone here!? We’re looking for Stephen Strange. Psychic extraordinaire? You around here? Maybe through this awful beaded-”

“If you value your life you will stop where you are.” A deep voice rumbled from the other side of the curtain.

“Was that a threat!? Did you just threaten me? May, you give this man money?” Tony looked to May but she didn’t seem as sympathetic as he would have liked for her to be.

Tony got angrier and started to storm through the beaded curtain, only to be stopped just before by a shaking hand covered in scars and a man too tall for Tony’s taste. His eyes were red-rimmed, dark circled and half-lidded as he put a hand to Tony’s chest, stopping his advance.

Tony glared. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing? Get your hand off me.”

“I believe you walked into my hand, Mr. Stark after I told you not to go any farther,” Stephen said, his tone even and his grey-blue eyes serious even beneath the drooping lids.

“After you threatened me.” Tony stepped away from Stephen, but then poked him in the chest to reiterate his point. “Which falls well in line with my theory. Say, you look tired, Strange. What were you up to last night? Kidnapping a teenager maybe?”

Strange continued to look at Tony with his even gaze but eventually, he couldn’t keep it up any longer. He rubbed his shaking fingers to his one temple and shook his head clear the beginning of a ringing in his ears. “I think you might be the biggest idiot I’ve ever known.” He said, turning around and going back through the beaded curtain. “Stay there.” His tone was distracted as the tingling beads swayed in his wake, along with a red cape that would have made little red riding hood jealous.

“Who wears a cape in the middle of the summer?” Tony asked, about to go through the beaded curtain anyway, but May put a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention away from Stephen.

“Tony. I know you don’t believe that this is real, but I need you to trust me.” Her gaze rooted him to the spot because May was very rarely so vulnerable. Her eyes were imploring, pleading with him to just go with whatever was happening.

Tony didn’t want to go along with this. He very rarely did something that he didn’t want to do, but May had never asked him for much and he couldn’t deny her.

“Fine. He has five minutes and then we’re getting out of here and I’m calling the cops to come and search the place.” He hissed in a low voice, trying to keep from being overheard.

May frowned but didn’t push her luck any farther.

“Okay. Five minutes, but really listen, Tony. He knows something- not because he was involved.” She glared at him when he started to protest. “Because he has a gift. If we’re lucky it will help us find Peter.”

“Yeah, cause the kidnapper is going to lead us right to him.” Tony scoffed and jumped when Strange appeared again, mug in one hand and a deck of cards in the other. Both were shaking.

Tony eyed the quaver suspiciously. “Guy upstairs said you were expecting company. Guess you figured May would be back after your weird session last night.”

Stephen ignored Tony’s quip and set both the deck and the mug down on the table that still had two steaming cups of tea on it. Tony noticed that Stephen’s mug was only half full but didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he stared flabbergasted as Stephen looked up at May and asked, “You remember my rules?”

Tony watched the odd exchange, and May nodded, not paying Tony any mind. “I do.”

“What rules?” Tony asked when a silent exchange happened between May and Stephen that he was left out of. “I deserve to know what’s going on.”

Stephen turned his gaze on Tony, not even a trace of defense or amusement in it. “I don’t predict death, major accidents, or major life changes in detail. It would make me more money if I did, but I don’t because it’s immoral. Nothing is set in stone, and it may be worrying about an impending incident that causes the incident.”

“So, that will explain why you very conveniently don’t have any exact details. What are you going to do? Throwdown some of those and tell me where my kid is in a ten-mile radius?” Tony pointed to the tarot cards skeptically.

“No.” Stephen took a seat in the larger, plush chair and then gestured to the remaining empty chairs, “Sit. We have work to do.”

May took her seat dutifully while Tony stood, gaping at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“You promised you’d give it a chance. Now sit down.” She pierced him with her glare and Tony tried to stand against it, but found himself wavering within thirty seconds.

“Fine.” He sat down and crossed his arms, “But I still think this is bullshit.”

Stephen set down his tarot cards but kept his mug in his shaking hand. He took a sip and when he pulled it away from his mouth his eyes seemed a little brighter than before.

“Let’s begin.”

* * *

“Sorry, sir, you just missed him. He left maybe half an hour ago.” The officer at the front of the station told Obadiah Stane.

“Alright,” Stane said, his patience wearing thin. “And the boy, they said they couldn’t find Peter.”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss active investigations with you, sir, I’m sorry. If you’re really close to Mister Stark I’m sure he’ll tell you what he can.” She smiled at him thinly and then turned back to her paperwork, not glancing at Obadiah again.

Obadiah frowned but didn’t say anything about her non-slight, leaving the station through the same door he’d come in, no closer to finding Tony than he had been before. He tried dialing his cell phone on the way out, but there was no answer, it didn’t even ring. Just went straight to voicemail.

“Shit,” Obadiah muttered, thinking of Tony’s tendencies towards self-destruction. He scrolled through his contacts again until he came across Colonel Rhodes’ phone number and dialed that instead.

“Hello, James. Yes, I know you said only in emergencies. Listen, have you talked to Tony? The kid’s missing and I can’t get ahold of him, any idea where he might be?”

That was apparently news to Rhodes, who went silent on the other end of the line. When he finally spoke it was to confirm what he’d heard.

“Yes, Peter. I don’t know where Tony is either. Police won’t talk to me.” He sighed and rolled his eyes when Rhodes mounted a defense, “I know it’s protocol, but that doesn’t help me find Tony, does it? I’m sure the kids fine, you know what teenagers are like. He’s just overreacting.”

“Alright, you call him. Let me know if you get ahold of him. Alright bye.”

Obadiah and James Rhodes had never been on friendly terms, not since Tony brought him home from MIT when he was just a scrawny teen. Stane had tried his best to be friendly, but he’d always seemed to rub Rhodes the wrong way.

It didn’t matter. Stane didn’t have to deal with Rhodes much, and when Tony had been at his worst Rhodes had done most of the hard work of cleaning up after Tony, just leaving Obadiah to deal with the public and the stock. It worked well for them, even if they weren’t necessarily on friendly terms. They both looked out for Tony in their own ways.

And he was going to look out for Tony now, by keeping him from doing something stupid while the kid was missing.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's begin indeed! I'm working really hard on the tarot readings that Stephen is going to give, which is out of character as heck for me, because I almost never do research. (I'm lazy)  
> Next Chapter will also include tea leaf reading, which I've never done, so we'll see how that goes XD  
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated! ♥


	7. He Ain't Coming Back But He Ain't Gone Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Flashback.  
> Stephen Finally Does a Reading.  
> Obadiah Waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same warnings for gun violence. Gun is discharged.  
> All will be revealed in good time.
> 
> Thanks to the MDCBD and CasualOtaku who pointed out the formatting error so I could fix it! It has been fixed and the chapter has been a little bit better edited. Not gonna lie, it could use way more editing, but I wrote this story for giggles and editting does not give me giggles :(

_ “Alright, kid. Let’s do this easy, huh?” The man said as he turned the light in the cabin on. “This cabin is too far from town or the road for anyone to see the lights on, let alone hear you scream.” _

_ Peter looked at the man over his shoulder, tears still wetting his eyes and betrayal making them hard and angry despite. Now that he was getting a good look at his kidnapper, the murderer of his soulmate, the gravity of the betrayal at hand was sinking in, replacing the fear with anger. _

_ The man removed the safety and pointed the gun at Peter’s head, raising an eyebrow at Peter’s show of resistance. _

_ Peter didn’t back down, meeting the glare head-on. Tony had taught him better than that, taught him to persevere despite obstacles, despite dangers. He may have come with the gun trained on him, but that didn’t mean he liked it. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t fight. Even with fear and doubt coursing through him he knew that he couldn’t make this easy. If he hadn’t just shot him on sight that meant he wanted him alive. And Peter was smart enough (or stupid enough) to take advantage of that. _

_ The man sighed and put the safety back on the gun. “I see. Well, you are your father’s son.” _

_ The usual urge to correct people who called him Tony’s son reared its head, but Peter had to pick his battles, and that couldn’t be one of them, not right now. _

_ “What do you want with me?” He asked, eyes darting around the room for anything he could use as a weapon, the fear slowly fading back into a near unfeelingness that was more dangerous than. The shock wore away to survival instincts. The anger sweeping through him was quickly overpowering the fear, the pounding blood in his ears becoming a war rhythm. _

_ “You really don’t give up.” He dug around in his pocket and came away with a small device that Peter didn’t recognize. Peter took the opportunity to scramble back, and get up on his feet, cold and numb as they now were from the river water. _

_ “Peter.” The man sighed, pulling his gun out and firing a shot into the floor at Peter’s feet. He jumped and watched the gunman wide-eyed. “Oh, come on. You saw me shoot your boyfriend point-blank. Did you really think I wouldn’t shoot you?” He frowned and looked at Peter disappointedly. “You’re supposed to be smart.” _

_ Peter watched the gunman’s weapon, the device in his other hand nearly forgotten. “I am smart. You haven’t killed me yet, and you aim for my feet. You want me for something.” _

_ He continued to back away, towards the entrance to the kitchen, where there was a back exit. His ankle twinged with every step, but adrenaline made the pain insignificant. _

_ “Well, you’re right about that. Think it might be more trouble than you’re worth now. I’m gonna have to have that fixed,” he pointed to the bullet hole in the floor. “Otherwise he’ll know we were here, and we don’t want that.” _

_ “Why did you bring me here?” Peter continued to edge towards the kitchen door, just five feet from it now. If he made a dash for it he could get away. Maybe. He’d have to try. He didn’t know how much more he’d be allowed to move before he started shooting again. _

_ “It was convenient.” He shrugged and took a step closer to Peter. “Now stop moving or I’ll have to kill you.” _

_ Peter bolted for the kitchen door. _

* * *

Stephen took another long sip of his tea, spiked with magic and herbs to wake him up. It was only a temporary solution and would wear off in less than a half-hour, but it was as much as he could push himself at the moment. He would make the readings quick.

“The tea cups beside you have loose leaves in them. Drink it until there’s just a sip left in the bottom. Don’t drink the leaves.” He set the mug down by his chair and then raised his eyebrow when Tony made no move to pick up his cup. “Problem?”

“You want me to drink tea. That’s a part of finding my kid?” Tony scoffed and May glared at him, already sipping on the perfectly warm black tea that had just a hint of something citrusy.

“Just drink the tea, Tony. He knows what he’s doing.”

“You know, May, I never took you for the blind follower type. How do we know you didn’t do something to this tea.”

“You are excessively paranoid.” Stephen rubbed his temples. “May, we’ll do yours first. Maybe once Tony sees that you haven’t dropped dead he’ll drink his tea.”

“It’ll be cold by then,” May said coolly, taking another sip of her tea. “No sugar?” She asked, and Stephen shook his head.

“Considering the circumstances it seems inappropriate.” He smiled apologetically, but May just shook her head.

“I understand.” She sipped at her tea again and Tony just couldn’t stand it, apparently.

“I don’t. What’s sugar got to do with a fortune?” He asked, picking up the teacup, and sloshing some of the liquid out of the cup, just barely missing the tarot.

“Everything on this earth has magical properties.” Stephen pulled the tarot off the table and placed them in his lap to avoid Tony’s tea sloshing. “Including sugar. If we put sugar in the tea it might alter the reading, sugar coat it.” He smirked at the way Tony’s mouth gaped.

“Magic. I’m consulting a man who believes in magic.” Tony looked into the cup, the tea becoming darker and more tannic even as he watched. “I’ve hit rock bottom. This is it. I was an alcoholic, but somehow a tea reading wizard is going to be my low point.”

“Just drink the damn tea, Tony.”

Tony glared and resolutely didn’t drink the tea. Stephen ignored him and turned his full attention to May. “I’m going to ask you some questions. You’re here about your nephew, Peter?” May nodded. “Let’s talk about him then. How old is he?”

“16. Nearly 17. It feels like he’s growing up so fast.” She looked into her half-empty teacup. “It’s hell, not knowing where he is, or if he’s okay.”

“I understand.” Stephen said, “Sip,” he reminded her and she did, her eyes sad and not entirely focused on the world in front of her. “You two must be close. Can you tell me about your happiest memory with him?”

May nodded, still staring at the tea. “We take the twenty-minute drive to G— to that retro diner,” she smiled to herself, “And we get milkshakes and we just talk. One time…” She tears up and Stephen produces a small package of Kleenex from the pocket of his robe and hands it to her. “One time when we went, he was nervous the whole drive, bouncing his foot, trying not to act suspicious.” She laughed and pulled a tissue out one-handed, dabbing at her eyes where the previous day’s makeup is nearly worn away. “He was the one who wanted to go, I didn’t know why he was so nervous.”

“Sip.” He prompted and she did, her mind more focused on Peter than drinking.

“And he- he came out to me. Right there at that stupid diner, and he looked so scared.” She sniffled. “I- It horrified me that he thought I might be upset. I just. I got up and I just gave him a hug and he… I felt him relax in my arms. This tension that just evaporated as soon as I hugged him and… well, we both cried a little bit.” She laughed again. “I cried a lot. And I just told him that I loved him. That I would always love him. I-I couldn’t believe he thought I’d be upset.”

“He thought you would be disappointed,” Tony said softly, drawing the attention of both Stephen and May. “Me too. Can’t imagine why.” Tony sighed and slumped back in his chair. May nodded at him and took another sip of her tea.

“He’s anxious like that. Wade’s parents nearly kicked him out.” She sighed.

Stephen usually tried to keep on topic when he was doing a reading, but his intuition blared at him when he heard the name “Wade.”

“Can you tell me more about Wade?”

“His boyfriend,” May said, exchanging a silent confrontation with Tony before continuing. “Wade Wilson, he was with Peter last night. They went out to dinner to celebrate Peter’s win. They were together last anybody heard.”

“They were close?” Stephen asked, and May nodded.

“Inseparable since they were kids, even before Peter moved into town. The Wilsons were good friends of mine and Ben’s. We had them and Wade over all the time. When Richard and Mary came over Wade was right behind, dragging his parents.” She laughed. “They were always close. I was really happy for them when they got together. They smooth each other out. Peter took more risks, Wade took less. They’re good for each other.”

Stephen nodded and May sipped again without prompting, looking surprised when a tea leaf hit her lips. “Oh, I think I’m done.” She showed him the cup and Stephen nodded.

“Swirl the cup and think about Peter, then turn it over onto the saucer.”

May did as she was told, watching the leaves and flipping the cup over quickly, setting it on top of the saucer wrong side up.

“What now?” Tony asked, less confrontational than he was before.

“We wait. About a minute until the tea drains.”

“And then?”

“And then we read the leaves. Are you ready to start yours?”

Tony looked warily at the cup but picked it up anyway. “You gonna ask me questions too?”

“Yes. What are you the most worried about right now?”

Tony looked taken aback. “May got to talk about fun stuff. This isn’t fair.”

“May’s reading if for Peter’s well being. Your reading is for Peter’s fate. Your anxieties are based in intuition, and your intuition will fuel the reading. So, what are you most worried about?”

Tony stared at the cup of tea, probably mentally cursing it, and finally said, “I’m afraid that he’s dead.”

Stephen tried not to flinch, another memory of the death howl clawing its way out of the back of his mind. “Why are you afraid of that?”

“I know my kid. He would never just not call me. Not unless something was really wrong. And the police were talking about not wanting to search until he’d been gone 24 hours, but I got called into the station at 8am this morning, a whole thirteen hours earlier than I would have even been allowed to report. They’re starting a search. They wouldn’t do that if they didn’t think it was serious. Last night when I went to the station they brushed me off as a paranoid helicopter parent, but I’m not. Something’s wrong. Something big. I’m afraid he might be dead in a ditch somewhere, or alone and scared.”

“Drink,” Stephen said, and Tony did, looking surprised when his cup was coffee, and not tea.

“What?” He asked, and Stephen just waved his hand at Tony, telling him to drink more. He did.

“I can’t tell you whether or not he’s dead.” Stephen said, frowning, “It’s one of my rules. But I’ll tell you as much as I can. Think about Peter, about where he might be. Ask the cup where he is.”

“Ask the cup?” Tony asked, skeptical but not angry.

“Yes.” He turned his attention back to May. “Tap the cup three times and think about Peter’s wellbeing. Ask the universe if he’s okay.”

May closed her eyes and did as she was told. “Now pick it up?”

“Now pick it up.” He reached his energy out towards May’s feeling her aura, anxiety and hope rolled into one. She looked at the leaves and then went to hand the cup to Stephen, but he declined it, looking away. “Tell me what you see first. Any shapes, images, clumps or leaves that stand out or feel important. There are no wrong answers.”

May looked back at the cup and squinted, putting her glasses on top of her head as she gazed down at the cup. “I’m seeing three separate clumps. They’re pretty big.” She frowned. One of them kind of looks like a cloud or a lake? Maybe.”

“Where is it?”

“The top, on the left.”

Stephen nodded. “Anything else?”

“There are… maybe it’s a gun? I mean, I might be crazy. But I see a gun, and a squiggly line between them.”

“That everything?”

May squinted and turned the cup another direction. “I think maybe that’s a skull. From this angle, there are some holes in the cloud that make it look like a skull.”

Stephen nodded and reached for the cup. “Alright. I’m going to use your interpretations to read the leaves, combined with my own understanding of the symbolism.” He moved the cup this way and that, analyzing the leaves from multiple angles. “Is there a spot Peter likes to go, by the river? Somewhere secluded, maybe he liked to go with Wade.” He sees a dog where May saw a skull, making the tail and ears from small disconnected leaves. “I”m seeing him and someone close to him, a friend,” he reiterated.

“He liked the rock shelf,” Tony said quietly, feeling stupid for not thinking of it earlier. “He and Wade used to like it, but they stopped hanging out there when they were kids.”

“No, they didn’t,” May said quietly. “They started going again once they got together.”

Tony groaned and rubbed his head. “Peter is making out with Wade at the rock shelf, isn’t he?”

“Peter and I are close, but we’re not that close, Tony.” May laughed.

Stephen looked at the gun pointing at the dog and winced. “Has anyone seen Wade?”

“He’s missing too,” Tony said, and Stephen chewed the inside of his cheek. “Why, what’s there?”

“He and Wade, the last place they were together was at the rock shelf, and then they went separate ways. Wade went down the river. I can’t tell what happened to Peter.” He sighed, setting the cup down, “But that’s what your cup is for. Are you done?” he asked Tony, putting May’s cup back into the wet saucer.

Tony downed nearly all his coffee and then flipped it over without swirling it in the cup. Stephen sighed and shook his head, deciding not to say anything. They wait in silence for Tony’s coffee to drain and Tony’s leg starts to bounce. Right when he’s about to open his mouth to ask how much longer Stephen holds up a hand to stop him. His hands are aching more than normal because of how long he’s been awake. As soon as they leave he’ll have to put something together for the pain or he won’t be able to sleep.

“Now,” Stephen said after a few minutes. “What do you see?”

Tony picked the cup up quickly and Stephen was surprised to see none of the grounds in the saucer. Even May’s tea leaves, which had been properly prepared, had a few leaves fall into the bottom of the saucer. Shit.

“It’s, okay, that’s a squiggle, all the way from the bottom to the top. And just a weirdly shaped dot on either side. I don’t- there’s no animals or whatever. They’re just dots.

“Where are they?”

“One is by the top, actually, wait. That looks like the Cadillac symbol. Why does that look like a Cadillac symbol?” He twisted the cap. “The okay, maybe that’s… a dog but with a bushy tail. What are those? Foxes. It’s a fox.” He squinted. “What the hell?”

Stephen held out his hand for the cup and Tony shoved it at him, already frustrated. Stephen looked into it and sure enough, there was a long squiggle running from one end of the cup to the other. “Peter’s still on the river,” Stephen said, looking at the small boy-shaped symbol near the center of the line. “It’s… he’s not there of his own volition. He didn’t want to leave Wade. He had to.” He frowned into the coffee grounds and pondered what Tony had called a Cadillac symbol. “I think someone might have taken him, but he’s still on the river, they didn’t move away from it for long if they did at all... The fox,” Stephen looks up from the cup and directly at Tony, feeling his aura for a reaction, “It symbolizes betrayal, usually by a close friend. Someone you trust made Peter move down the river. I don’t think he’s coming back, not on his own. Someone will have to go and get him. I don’t know who. The person who did it, they drove a Cadillac.” He set the cup back down.

“Not coming back on his own?” Tony asked, a small amount of hope shining in his eyes.

“He can’t come back on his own,” Stephen said, and that was true, at least. He couldn’t be the one who told Tony Peter was dead, but he felt awful for planting false hope in him.

“Say it,” May said suddenly, glaring at Tony. “Say it. You didn’t just end my session because you sensed Peter being kidnapped. Say what you felt last night that made you send me away.”

Stephen was caught in a moral crossroads. On one hand, he didn’t predict death, on the other hand, it wasn’t a prediction, Peter was already dead. He had felt Peter die. He was haunted by Peter’s final panicked moment.

“Last night,” he started, to Tony’s shock and May’s sadness, “I had my shields down and I was reaching out to your husband, looking for anything that was reaching out for you. I…” The shaking in his hands became more prominent as he thought back in detail to that night. “I felt his final moments, when his soul was ripped from his body he reached out to you, probably reached out to both of you,” He said, gesturing to Tony. “And I just so happened to be listening. I’m sorry.”

“What are you saying?” Tony asked, body stiff with tension.

“I- I might be wrong. He may have been resuscitated, but… Peter died last night. Maybe for a few minutes, maybe forever. I can’t be sure.”

Tony got up and walked out of the room.

May started to call after him, but Stephen got up too.

“I think you should go.” He told her, “Go after him. He shouldn’t be alone right now.”

And with that he disappeared behind the beaded curtain, tarot deck unused and teacups discarded. He needed a nap. And to meditate.

He didn’t listen for the soft footsteps upstairs, but he heard them just the same as May trailed dejectedly after Tony. Heart heavier with the news Stephen had been forced to give her.

There was a reason he didn’t predict death. It would serve him well to remember that reason.

* * *

Obadiah pulled back into Tony’s driveway and parked, blocking Tony’s car in and keeping him from running if he got the urge to when he was confronted. Wherever Tony was, he had to come home and get his car eventually, and when he did Obadiah would be waiting and expecting an explanation. They had a meeting in the afternoon with the board members and Tony couldn’t miss another one. He’d already postponed three times, mostly for Peter. Peter couldn’t keep getting in the way of their business, they were running a company, and time was money.

Tony used to understand that. Obadiah didn’t know why the kid changed that, but it did. Something about Tony had changed the second he’d decided to come to the backwater town of W— and frankly it was starting to get on Obadiah’s nerves. Now the kid goes missing for less than 24 hours and Tony is already calling the cops and running around town looking for him like it would make a difference.

Obadiah sat down on the front porch swing and crossed his ankle of his knee, stretching his arms over the back of the bench and waited. He had cleared his schedule through mid-afternoon for the drive and personal time, so he didn’t have anything better to do.

Obadiah had been sitting there for less than ten minutes when his phone rang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on the tea reading! (And coffee)  
> I have never read tea leaves before, I have very little experience, and honestly I just winged it after a couple of cursory searches. So, if you practice tea reading, sorry, this is not going to be v accurate :)  
> I love this story. The tarot reading that Stephen was meant to do this chapter will happen, just not now. I'm working so hard on finding the right combination of cards to say what I want it to say. We'll see how it turns out.  
> Comments and kudos are wholeheartedly appreciated. ♥


End file.
